


send vibrations (in your direction)

by sidewinder



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-typical discussion of rape and sexual assult, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sleep Sex, alternative universe, but with an omegaverse twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: Dealing with a tough case has unexpected effects on two of SVU's detectives. How will they deal with the aftermath, and their working and personal relationship afterwards?





	send vibrations (in your direction)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ApexOnHigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApexOnHigh/gifts).



> I started writing this for you for Nonconathon...but it grew (more than) a little bit out of control and I couldn't finish it in time. It also started becoming more dub-con than outright non-con, so I felt it better suited as a gift for another day, and another exchange. I hope you enjoy it here at last—and thanks for giving me an excuse to finally write this AU trope that I've wanted to tackle for some time now.
> 
> * * *
> 
> As a general content warning, there are references within to sexual assault victims who are minors. We are talking about the world of SVU, here, but readers may wish to proceed with caution.
> 
> * * *

_When your voice_  
_Became vibrations_  
_From the satellite mind_  
_It sounded like mine_

  
The SWAT team members stood in front of the door, awaiting John’s signal. He took a moment, first, to look toward his partner. He wouldn’t make the order to move unless he was certain Fin was ready as well. The detectives only had limited information about what they might find beyond that door, so they were taking no chances. And even with well-armed personnel on hand, John knew they had to be on full alert, prepared for anything.

Fin returned John’s glance and nodded, his own expression cool, determined, and calm. He stood with his gun drawn and ready, and both detectives had donned their bulletproof vests. From the outside this old brownstone looked like most of the others on this block—neglected or outright abandoned, brickwork long since covered in cracking stucco. But they had information that on the inside, there was plenty of activity going on, day and night.

The kind of activity that was illegal these days, but likely unable to ever stop.

John turned his attention back to the officers at the door and drew a deep breath. He then nodded to the SWAT commander they were ready.

That was all the signal she needed.

Silence exploded into organized chaos. The battering ram broke through the door and they piled through, John and Fin following behind in a wave of shouts, dust and commotion. Once inside, beyond the boarded-up windows and insulated walls, the overpowering stench in the air was almost enough to make John pass out.

 _“Jesus Christ!”_ he heard one of the other men exclaim. They all had to be smelling it— _feeling_ it—albeit it in different ways. Most of them were alphas, and no matter their training and preparation for situations like this it had to be intoxicating, invigorating, a rush of pure adrenaline. John, however, felt nauseous and dizzy, the blockers in his system revolting at unmistakable scent of heat in the air. It was so strong it couldn’t be coming from one source, one omega, but what had to be a house full of them.

But he was the lead detective on this case, biology be damned. He had to keep it together, call upon his own training to push back against base instinct. “Find the stairs to the basement!” he shouted as the team spread through the building.

A runaway omega had tipped them off to this place, claiming that others like him were being held in basement cells until “claimed” by paying customers. An omega sex slavery operation—something of a scale the SVU detectives hadn’t seen in a long time. John leaned back against the corridor wall to collect himself while the others rushed ahead. Fin paused in front of him to ask, “Munch, you—”

“Go! With them, downstairs,” he snapped at his junior partner, sharper than he’d intended. He knew Fin’s concern was for obvious reasons. Regardless, this was a scene where John hated to show or admit to any weakness. And even with the scent of so many omegas in heat in the air, John could pick up on the pheremonal presence of Fin so near in a way that made him particularly uncomfortable.

 _Should have taken an extra dose of blockers this morning as a precaution,_ he scolded himself _._ This was a hazard he should have known they could encounter. Doctors didn't recommend double-dosing, but sometimes it was necessary in this line of work. Nausea, some headaches, and the other side effects were more tolerable than the alternative.

“I’ll check upstairs,” he said less harshly, as his partner headed off. John took a deep breath in an effort to hold it together. Head buzzing, feeling like his feet were stuck in lead, he labored on to push forward, up the stairs to the second floor. SWAT officers were already breaking down doors, shouting commands into rooms where they caught paying customers of this nightmarish bordello in the act—some quite literally. Caught and unable to decouple, at least in some unfortunate cases. John peered into one room, disgust filling him at the sight. A heavy-set, older alpha was trying to pull away from the young girl he held knotted and screaming beneath him on the filthy mattress.

"Sedate that son of a bitch and get him off her,” John ordered the team’s med tech, whose weapon of choice was a loaded injection gun. The shot would knock the alpha on his ass and dissipate his penile knot immediately, though the after-effects tomorrow would hurt like hell.

_Hope it does. I’d break his dick off if I could, then he’d know the pain he deserves._

John heard the sound of gunfire coming from outside followed by screeching tires, more bullets flying. He ran to the end of the hallway, around the corner to an open fire door.

"What happened?” he asked the officer standing on the top of the outdoor stairwell.

“Looks like someone made a run for it before we could stop ’im. Or someones. Team on the ground says three or four of them in the van.”

“Dammit. Son of a _bitch!”_ No doubt it was the ringleader of this operation and his protection making an escape before he could be arrested for omega trafficking. While rescuing these poor victims made for a good day’s work, John was determined to catch the bastard—or bastards—behind this operation. Find out where they had more kids stashed, other houses like this one.

Because it was a certainty that they did.

“There’s a team in pursuit. We'll catch them,” the officer tried to reassure him.

"You’d better.” The air out here was so much clearer, fresher. John wanted to stay and not turn around. But he knew he had to go back—especially when his radio crackled to life and he heard his partner calling for his attention.

_“We got at least ten down here in the basement! Most of 'em in bad shape, doped up.”_

“All right. We’ve got at least as many up here,” John responded. “Ambulances better be on the way, and as many as are available.” It was going to be a very long day cleaning up this mess and getting these kids out of here and to the hospital. But at least they’d be done living this nightmare.

He took one last breath of the clear outdoor air before heading back inside.

* * *

"How many?” Cragen asked, in both disbelief and weary resignation.

“Twenty-three. Ages, best as anyone can figure so far, between twelve and eighteen.” John's eyes skimmed over the photos tacked to the board. The blank stares looking back at him were unsettling, and yet he found it near impossible to turn away.

“Yeah, it’s gonna take a while to I.D. these kids, if we can at all,” Fin continued. “Half of them we found so doped up on heat-stims, they have to remain sedated and restrained until the drugs pass out of their systems. That could take days.”

“And they all look to have been smuggled here illegally, from Central and South America,” John added. “Guatemala, El Salvador, two brothers from Peru... The few who were able to talk to a translator or spoke some basic English described being stolen away from their homes—or sold by their own parents—right after going into their first heat.”

“…And then traded by traffickers to whoever was running this sick pedo operation,” Stabler said, unable to contain his disgust. “And the scumbag escaped again.”

“We thought we had every exit covered,” John said, feeling a touch defensive. “Turned out they had an underground tunnel connecting them to a parking garage next door. That’s how they got away. But when these kids can talk, maybe we’ll finally get something more to go on,” John said with a sigh. “CSU is combing through the building right now.” _And then they should burn it right down to the ground._

“All right, well, at least we got those kids out of there,” Cragen said. “Good work on that, you two.”

“Yeah, swell.” John couldn’t turn away from those faces as easy as the others could, going back on with their workdays, their other cases. When Fin put a hand on his shoulder, he jumped at the unexpected touch.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“You want to—”

“It may only be Thursday night but I want to go to McGinty’s and get completely shit-faced. How about you?” Drinking probably wasn’t his best course of action. But if it would help him get those kids out of his head? Forget the stench of that house and the way it had made him feel—the way it was _still_ making him feel? Then he was all for it.

“I’m good with that,” Fin was quick to agree. “It’s late, and we ain’t gonna be able to talk to anyone ’till tomorrow at the earliest, anyway.”

“’Liv, Elliot, care to join us? Fin’s buying tonight,” John said, trying to get back into his usual joking mode while he grabbed his hat and coat.

“I'm in,” Olivia said. “In fact I’ll see if Alex can meet us there.” Since she had hooked up with the alluring—and very alpha—ADA, Olivia rarely went out for an evening without her lover by her side. They hadn’t bonded yet, but everyone figured it was an inevitability at this point.

“One round,” Stabler agreed, “then I’ve got to get home and help with the twins’ science projects that are due on Monday, since we have baseball practice over the weekend.” In contrast Elliot had bonded with his high school sweetheart as soon as both were of age. Years later and he had a gaggle of kids to show for it, like any good Catholic alpha. Sometimes John envied his and Kathy’s picture-perfect image of traditional family stability, but he knew it wasn’t for lack of trying that he had yet to find that special “one” for him.

If such a person existed—alpha, beta or even fellow omega. But finding them while working this job, and dealing with these cases, wasn’t easy. So for he most part, he’d given up trying.

It was simply easier that way.

* * *

The mood at the bar was that of contrived conviviality—one where the alcohol didn’t see to be doing the trick, and the darkness of their jobs refused to let go.

"I can’t imagine how terrified those kids must have been.” Alex shook her head as she draped an arm around Olivia’s shoulders. The detectives had shared the day’s developments in the case over their first round of drinks.

“I can,” Olivia said, her eyes meeting with John’s across their table. He acknowledged it silently, with the tiniest nod. They both understood, being the only two omegas in their merry little group of law enforcers. There were plenty of things that even the most “enlightened” alphas and disinterested betas could never truly appreciate. “To be that age, it’s hard enough to cope with losing control to desires you can’t begin to understand yet,” Olivia continued. “And then to have sex—heat sex—forced upon you, again and again? Used like property until you’re too broken, or dead? It’s sickening.”

“Yet it’s been going on since the dawn of humankind,” John said in a dry tone, finishing off the last of his second beer. He was definitely ready to move on to something harder. “Only now in our enlightened age we consider it a crime, instead of the natural way of things.”

“And plenty of people would like to see things go back to the way they used to be. Back to the times before blockers were legalized and omegas granted equal status under the law,” Alex added.

“Ah yes, the religious zealots who’d love to take us back to the dark ages, blaming omegas for all sin and hardship.”

“The church has come a long way in that regard, John,” a defensive Stabler put in.

“‘Not all Catholics?’” Fin’s words dripped with well-targeted sarcasm.

John snorted and clinked his empty bottle against his partner’s. He then waved a hand to get their server’s attention. “I’ll get this round, who’s in?"

“I’m out. Stay any later and I’ll be hearing it from Kathy,” Elliot got up and threw a handful of bills on the table to cover his share.

“I think we’ll be heading home, too,” Alex said, with Olivia nodding in agreement. “You boys keep up the hard work here without us.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere,” John said, looking then to Fin. “You?”

“Nuh-uh. Stayin’ put.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” John ordered them both a round of double whiskeys, and two more beers for good measure. He was starting to feel a solid buzz in the back of his skull to quiet the unease left by the days’ events.

They sat and drank in silence for a while, but it wasn't an uneasy one. That was one of the things John liked about Fin. He put up with John’s more loquacious nature, but he was also fine with silence when one’s thoughts needed more room and attention. Fin was generally on the quieter side himself, more so than most alphas John had known, or had partnered with before—on the job _or_ romantically.

And John had gone through a _lot_ of partners through the years.

“Think those kids are gonna be okay?” Fin finally asked, after their whiskies had arrived and they'd had enough time to contemplate them.

“I don’t know," John answered, in complete honesty. If they got shipped home—if such homes could be located, for those not abandoned by their parents—they would no doubt be considered “damaged goods”. Not likely to be marriageable in cultures where omega rights were still a major civil rights issue, and back in prostitution in no time at all. Stay here in the States and they’d get swallowed up by the foster care system until aged out of it. And then they would be subject to the same dismal outlook of street crime, drugs, and selling themselves. “Hopefully they’ll be better off than they were when we found them, at least for a little while.”

“I guess. You ever ask yourself if this job is worth it? I mean…if we’re actually making any difference,” Fin wondered aloud.

“Almost daily. I think to myself, I could go back to Homicide. Or retire for good and get out of the game. I’ve put in four years here so far; that’s longer than most people can last in Sex Crimes. So I guess I’m a masochist to keep hanging on.”

“Or, you care too much to take an easy way out.”

John raised an eyebrow at his partner. Fin usually wasn’t one to fall back on stereotypes. “Why, because I’m an over-emotional omega?”

“No. Because you’re _you,_ and I’ve worked with you long enough to understand that about you. It ain’t a criticism.”

“Well, in that case, thanks. I think.” John picked up his glass, swirled the ice around in the golden liquid and took another sip. The welcome numbness—emotional and physical—was spreading through his system at last. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he liked it better now that they were drinking alone, only him and Fin in this dark room full of strangers. Fin _did_ seem to understand him, and beneath all the teasing and dismissive remarks even seemed to genuinely _like_ him. And those sentiments were quite mutual.

In idle moments, John sometimes wondered if those feelings of friendship and trust could ever grow into something more. After all, working with an attractive, strong and unattached alpha like Fin, it was an effort _not_ to think about it—despite not seeing himself as necessarily his partner’s “type”. But then again, Fin was a bit of an odd one, quiet and secretive about personal matters. He could be a challenge to pin down no matter how much John pressed and needled him with jokes and questions. He seemed to have little to no interest in casual dating or sex, let alone seeking out a desirable omega to mate. He claimed his one failed, bonded marriage had been enough for him, and that he put all his energy into his job instead.

Yet sometimes John sensed a hint of something more primal and wanting from his partner than Fin ever let himself show. Something occasionally directed in his own direction, a tiny glimmer and burst of pheremonal yearning, before disappearing behind that cool façade. They might be working hard on a case, or teasing each other while stuck in their car on an endless stakeout. All of a sudden John would become acutely aware of Fin’s presence, his body responding to his partner on a base level. The energy passing between them could be enough to make him shiver or lose track of his thoughts mid-sentence, but then it would all be gone in a flash.

There was something his uncle Andrew had told him once:

_“People can lie, their words deny, but pheremones only speak the truth.”_

Ah, but John knew such thoughts about his partner was dangerous mental territory to linger upon. Too many people still believed that alphas and omegas couldn’t work together for extended periods of time without giving in to sexual impulses. He’d never wanted to prove them correct, not when it was still such a challenge for omegas to be taken seriously in certain fields and professions, such as theirs. In fact the only partner on the force he’d ever messed around with was Brian—who was an omega, like him.

Brian had then left SVU for his own reasons, nothing to do with their relationship. He’d found couldn’t detach from their cases enough to handle this line of work.

Then again, John was having a hard enough time doing that himself tonight.

“So how drunk do you feel like gettin’?” Fin asked, thankfully distracting John from his meandering train of thought. He’d nearly drained his glass of whiskey by this point and seemed to be contemplating another round.

“Somewhere between _not-remembering-a-thing_ blackout drunk and _able-to-function-tomorrow-even-with-a-hangover-from-hell_ inebriated. You?”

“Guess I’ll follow your lead. Then make sure we both catch cabs home.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John agreed, once more looking for their server to flag her down.

* * *

They ended up catching only _one_ cab after drinking far beyond their fill. John had run low on cash after paying the bar bill, and neither could remember if there was an ATM nearby. (And even if they had been able to remember that much? Neither could recall their PIN codes so that they could actually _use_ their bank cards.)

So a single cab shared between them, to Fin’s place because it was closer, had needed to suffice. It was either that or walk back to the precinct and crash in the crib, and Fin’s sofa was the more comfortable alternative.

It wouldn’t be the first time John had spent the night here. Usually, though, it was due to being out late on the job—or once when his landlord had needed to do emergency plumbing repairs and John had been too cheap to spring for a hotel room for a few nights. Fin never complained, too much at least, about having to host his partner. It’s not like either of them ever got much time to spend at home anyway thanks to the nature of their job.

“Blanket?” Fin asked, shuffling around with far less than his usual grace of movement. He’d done a good job of keeping pace with John at the bar and was clearly feeling the effects of all that alcohol.

“Sure.”

“Two pillows good?”

“Sure.”

Fin came back and tossed them on the end of the sofa. He then went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Amaretto, a pair of small glasses. “One last round for the night?” he asked, plopping down next to John.

“Sure.” John found it hard to come up with more than that repetitive, monosyllabic response at the moment. It was also hard to refuse a final drink when the bottle was right there, and they had nowhere else to go for the night. Fin poured out two shots of the liqueur and it went down nice and smooth, washing away some of the lingering taste of the bar’s cheap well whiskey.

“Good stuff.”

“Uh huh,” Fin agreed.

John was suddenly incredibly tired. Mellow, drunk, tired and very cozy, here in Fin’s apartment. An alpha’s space. There was always something low-level soothing about that, the background whiff of pheremones that relaxed him, made him feel safe and protected. He couldn’t hold back a yawn as he sat back and sank deeper into the comfort of Fin’s leather sofa.

“Another?” Fin asked, but John shook his head.

“Nah, I’m good.” He should at least take off his shoes, undo his tie, put his glasses aside, but those minor acts seemed to take too much effort and energy.

“’Kay.” Fin put the bottle down on the coffee table and sat back as well. “I’m beat.”

“Mm hmm.”

“I should go to bed.”

“Mm.”

But Fin didn’t seem to be finding the energy to move, either. Not that John minded. He was already so close to dropping off asleep that Fin could’ve sat there and turned on the TV, blasted the sound right in his ears and John would barely take notice. In fact he was only dimly aware, a short while later, of the sound of Fin snoring softly beside him on the sofa. It was a soothing sound, particularly combined with the muffled noise from the streets outside.

John closed his eyes and let the calmness of the moment fall over him. And soon he, too, was drifting asleep, an amused smile on his lips, eased by the presence of his friend and partner so close beside him.

* * *

Despite how peacefully he had fallen asleep, John’s dreams that night were a tangled mess of horrific visions and disturbing desires. Usually when he drank too much he blacked out, unaware of anything until he awoke with a killer hangover the next day. But on this night, in Fin’s apartment, the events of the day replayed repeatedly inside his mind. They melded and twisted with his own past, with chronic fears and anxieties, until he could no longer sort out grim reality from disturbing fantasy.

In his dreams John was a young teenager once more, crushed with disappointment and shame when as his first heat had overcome him. In reality he’d spent an entire week home from school—and of course, everyone _at_ school had known why. Only omegas entered puberty in such a dramatic fashion, one that required isolation until it passed or else none of the young alphas would be able to concentrate on their lessons. But here, in this dream, the alphas who had bullied and teased him decades before were now demanding his “services”, eager to have at a virgin omega in heat. He was one of the young sex slaves in that brothel they’d busted, and he was helpless to refuse his assailants.

Here, in this nightmare, no one came to his rescue; no one saved him from those alphas, or from himself as they took their turns with his body, fucking and knotting him until he couldn’t move from the pain and exhaustion, every nerve in his body fried.

That disturbing vision morphed into another as he slept on, restless, sweating, tossing about. He dreamed he was at work, at the 16th precinct, in a panic because he couldn’t remember taking his heat blockers for the past few days. Surely he had done so, hadn't he? He always did, every morning, right after getting out of bed and taking his morning piss. It was a daily task he _never_ let himself skip, to the extent of keeping a supply at work and in his car in case he was crashing at the crib, or on an overnight stakeout. But now the heat flush was commencing, the unmistakeable yearning building inside his body. He needed to get himself off, to get fucked—hard, raw, and _now_. His clothing grew unbearable against his skin, flesh that screamed for the touch of another. _Any_ other. The nearest alpha would do just fine.

Fin.

In his dream, he didn't care that it was the middle of the workday. He couldn’t; his brain had fixated on the scent and alpha-ness of his partner and his body on what only Fin could give him _._ And Fin took him, right there, in front of all the others—’Liv, Elliot, the captain, _everyone_ , some cheering, some taunting. It didn’t matter. Fin ripped John’s clothes off and bent him over the desk, John encouraging him on despite the humiliation of it all. Fin fucked John’s wet, aching hole until Fin’s knot swelled and they were locked in orgasmic release, the pain of being stretched so wide making John cry out in agony even as he begged for more…

John’s gasping for breath finally pulled him out of his nightmares, startling him awake. Or so he believed, for a moment, before thinking he had slipped into another dream. It had to be a nightmare again, he was sure of it—and this one was taking place in Fin’s apartment.

For he found himself face down on Fin’s sofa with Fin on top of him— _inside_ him—panting and dripping sweat onto John’s naked back. Shock mixed with panic and confusion, his head spinning while he tried to gain some kind of control of the situation. He tried to push Fin away, because dammit, if they ever _were_ going to do fuck, it wouldn’t be like _this,_ dream or not. But he was too weak to fight off the stronger alpha—an alpha in the full throes of his rut, no less. In fact the more he struggled the more intensely Fin went at him, burying his dick deeper into John’s ass and thrusting rougher, faster.

And fuck, on a physical level, it felt so goddamned _good._ John’s own cock was rock hard. Between the friction of rubbing against the sofa and getting fucked like this he could finally feel release beginning to build inside of him, release he desperately needed.

All things considered, this wasn’t as bad of a dream as the others had been…

But then Fin bit down on his shoulder, with enough force to make John yelp in pain. His eyes flew open and in that moment—

Fuck.

Oh, _fuck,_ no.

He knew, suddenly and with absolute certainty, that this was no dream. He was actually in full heat and his partner was mating him and _this was not supposed to happen, goddammit!_

“F-Fin!” he shouted, fighting harder than before to get free. They couldn’t be doing this. None of this could be happening. He’d _taken_ his blockers on schedule, he couldn’t have gone into heat without warning. And even if he _had_ , Fin would never take advantage of him in that state.

Would he?

The raging need coursing through his blood told him that all those “couldn’t”s meant nothing right now. It was happening, and in fact he could feel Fin’s erection only growing larger as he neared his impending orgasm. Soon they’d be knotted and nothing would separate them until their bodies were both satisfied.

That swelling, the sensation of being filled beyond what he thought his body could handle sent John’s panic into overdrive. He wrestled, once again, to get free, to get out from under Fin while he could. But Fin’s hands grasped onto his wrists, forcing him down flat against the sofa cushions, denying him any escape. He twisted and writhed but the more he moved, the more Fin seemed to respond only by growing harder—and _larger_ —until his inevitable climax began. And then they were locked together and he could feel every pulse of Fin’s cock, the explosive warmth of the alpha’s come filling him up inside.

John groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the overwhelming sensations. Just when he thought he couldn’t take the pain any more, it shattered and left him trembling in shuddering waves of his own orgasmic response. But what should have been a relief and release only left him sick and woozy, desperate for it all to be over as soon as possible.

He’d never understood how or why some omegas _liked_ this, craved and looked forward to being in heat and getting mated by force. He hated being trapped, pinned down, helpless against another—against his own body and the things it told him it needed which he wanted nothing to do with.

Sex was one thing; he loved sex. Sex could be beautiful, transcendental, or just hot and fun…but this was simply base animal instinct.

And yet he could do nothing now but endure it and pray it wouldn’t last for too long. Was Fin in any way aware of what he was doing, what he had done? Or had he, too, become trapped in a dream-state, a nightmare, only to wake up too late to stop himself?

John wouldn’t blame him, if so. He couldn’t; he knew Fin wouldn’t take an omega against their will. Fin wouldn’t do that to _him_. Fin only groaned and buried his head against the back of John’s neck, the sound and the feel of him making John whimper in almost automatic response.

How long it all lasted, John couldn’t say. It felt like an eternity, but in real time he knew it was perhaps fifteen, twenty minutes. The throbbing, pulsing sensation in his ass eventually began to fade, Fin’s grunts and dominating hold on him lessening. Finally, blessedly, he could feel the knot subsiding, but he made no effort to disengage from it until he felt Fin slip loose himself.

He breathed a shuddering sigh of relief at that, though he still couldn’t move much—Fin had only shifted enough to pull out, leaving a trail of sticky wet come across John’s ass. He wrapped his arms possessively around John’s body and murmured something incoherent in his ear, and John was too spent and fatigued to try to move away, to do anything but submit.

 _Maybe…maybe if I close my eyes again I’ll wake up in the morning and this will all have been another nightmare. Maybe none of this is happening._ He wasn’t sure he could convince himself that was the case. If this was real, and he _was_ in heat, then soon he would find himself in another wave of insatiable need and longing.

But the post-coital pheremones filling his senses, emanating from Fin, were too strong to resist. They lulled him into acceding to his body’s need for rest and before he knew it, he had fallen into a deep sleep once more.

* * *

When John next awoke, his head was pounding, his body ached all over, and he found himself weighed down by something large, awkward and unwieldy. Then he remembered, realizing that the cumbersome weight on top of him was Fin—once again snoring away in blissful oblivion, and still out cold.

And with that realization came the crushing of John’s fleeting hopes that this had all been some kind of dream or nightmare. Because there was no denying the reality their nakedness in this tangle of limbs, nor the heady aroma of sex, sweat and come in the air he breathed.

 _This is going to be wonderful to deal with once Fin wakes up,_ John thought grimly, wishing he could close his eyes again and sleep it all away. The case, the night of drinking… If he’d only gone straight home instead of boozing it up so much that he’d ended up here. If he’d woken up in an unexpected heat at home, he could have called in sick and rode out the misery on his own.

No, instead he’d stayed here with Fin when he knew he was in an emotionally fucked-up state, and hence made a mess of everything. He blamed himself, even as he recalled the words he’d told to plenty of omegas before while on the job, rape victims struggling to come to terms with their own assaults.

_“It wasn’t your fault. No always means no. And when you're in heat, yes is meaningless unless you gave consent before it began.”_

Those words he could say with easy conviction to others were far more difficult to tell himself. And he couldn’t put the blame on Fin, because he knew his partner wouldn’t have purposefully assaulted him in a heat state.

_Not if he knew what he was doing. He had to have been as out of it as I was._

_Please, please let that be the case._

His biggest concern now was how this would affect their working relationship. He’d never been good at keeping a partner for very long, but Fin had been the exception. He didn’t want to lose what they had on the job over one night’s terrible mistake.

_I don’t think I could start over with someone new at this point. Too many circles on that merry-go-round already. Might as well look into retiring—in fact maybe I should, if this is what SVU is doing to me._

And yet, despite it all and beneath the aches and pains, the anxiety and worries, there was a part of him that—momentarily, at least—felt incredibly sated and relaxed. Like he’d smoked some high grade weed and now wanted to do nothing but melt into the sofa and bask in feeling free of physical tension, almost boneless. The first wave of his heat had passed, his body’s vulgar demands satisfied by the frenzied mating with an alpha.

He knew, however, that the relief would only be temporary. It could be a few hours, or only a couple minutes depending on how long he’d been out cold, and then the terrible need would come over him once more. The second wave of it might not be as strong as the first, but it _would_ happen. And if Fin were still here when that occurred, well…avoiding a repeat of what had left them in this state would be difficult. They had each other’s scents on them, and that would make resisting the drive to mate again far more difficult.

So why wasn’t John acting quickly to make sure that didn’t take place?

His small nervous movements did finally awaken Fin, who stirred as he slowly came back to his own senses. That gave John room at last to separate himself from their tangle of limbs, crawling free to move to the far end of the sofa. He snatched the blanket to cover himself, although modesty seemed a moot point, all things considered.

Fin endeavored to push himself upright, looking as disoriented as John had felt brief moments before. “Munch…?” he asked, scratching his head, eyes widening as he realized John was clearly naked beneath the hastily grabbed blanket. Then Fin looked down to notice he himself was naked, too. “The _fuck?!_ ” he exclaimed, grabbing a woefully inadequate pillow to try to cover himself up.

“Tell me about it,” John smirked.

“We didn’t…” Fin trailed off, and John could see the wheels spinning in his partner’s mind, jumbled memories leading to sudden shock and realization. “Oh Jesus…”

“Unfortunately, I think the evidence is indisputable that we very much did.” John sighed. “Mind if I get some water? That is, if I’m able to stand after number you did on me.”

“Uh…yeah, sure.”

What John really wanted, and needed, was to dump an entire bucket of water on his head. Spend a good few hours in the shower, clean off, hope this multi-level, heat-and-alcohol-combo-hangover would go away. But for now a glass of New York’s finest tap water from Fin’s bathroom sink would have to suffice. He helped himself to a handful of painkillers from Fin’s medicine cabinet before returning to the sofa, cup of water in hand.

Fin looked about as mortified as John had ever seen him, despite having traded the pillow for a throw blanket formerly draped over the back of his lounge chair. “The pieces of this rather sordid puzzle starting to fit together for you yet? Or were you genuinely asleep through it all?” John asked as he sat back down, wincing a little at the effort.

Fin shook his head. “I don’t know what happened, man. Swear to God. Everything after we got back here is…all fucked up in my head. What I can remember of it at all. I mean…I remember sittin’ next to you on the sofa here. Maybe I drifted off for a little while.”

“You did. I think.” John’s recollections between leaving the bar and waking up mid-coitus were not the most coherent, either.

“I sort of remember…looking over and laughing at how you’d fallen asleep so quick after one drink. Thinkin’ I should go to bed myself, but I’d have one more shot first. Guess I fell asleep then, too, before I could get up and head to the bedroom. After that…it’s all hazy.” Fin frowned as he attempted to piece together his memories. “I remember having some crazy dreams, like you were all over me, tearin’ at my clothes and pulling off your own.”

“Well, obviously, I was—while messed up in my own bad dreams.” The evidence was all around them, as John took note of their various garments strewn across the room.

“I felt like I was back in that building, people crazy with heat all around me, but…you were the only one there. And the state you were in, got me all worked up until…I swear, John, I didn’t realize it wasn’t a dream. Not…’til I guess it was too late to stop. But I still don’t get how the fuck this happened in the first place!”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” John tried to sort more clearly through the scattered thoughts he’d had earlier, while waking up from his own nightmares. “I haven’t missed a dose of my blockers in years, though of course we know they’re not infallible. Still, I haven’t had an accidental heat since…let’s just say it’s been decades.” His _much_ younger days, for sure, when he was prone to experimenting with all kinds of substances, some of which didn’t interact very well with hormonal control agents—or made it hard to remember to take them.

“I knew I wasn’t right last night, even at the bar,” John continued. “I thought it was the stress, the case was eating at me. But maybe being around all those omegas in hyper-induced heat, followed by drinking too much…and then falling asleep right next to you…” he finished with a shrug. They could analyze things endlessly but it wouldn’t change what had happened. It all added up to a absolute clusterfuck of a situation, not unlike plenty of tricky _alpha-said/omega-said_ rape cases they’d had to sort out at SVU.

Fin shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. I should have…”

“Should have what?” John prompted.

“I don’t know! Been more responsible. Known it’d be a bad idea to go out drinking after a day like that. I’m fuckin’…I’m an idiot, and I know that I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

If he’d held even an ounce of real anger at Fin, it dissipated to see the man so upset and torn up over what had happened. “Fin, stop apologizing. I don’t blame you. Let’s agree that we both screwed up in a royal fashion last night. And while it’s all rather humiliating, I’ll survive.” John paused, looking at his partner. There were more things he wanted to say to help assuage Fin’s guilt, but he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. Like those things he’d been thinking last night at the bar, about his emotions and questions regarding their relationship. “I’m more worried about what’s going to happen next.”

“What d’you mean?”

“You know how this works, Fin. The state I’m in could last straight through the weekend. In fact it’s a bad idea for me to leave this apartment until I’m sure it’s over.” The last thing he needed was to be on his own and have another wave of this heat hit him in a public space, like on the subway or the back of a cab.

Fin nodded in understanding. “I should get movin’, then. I’ll go in and tell ’em you’re…under the weather, be back in on Monday. I can spend a weekend in a hotel—or your place—until it’s passed.”

“That would make sense,” John agreed. It would be the safe thing, the _rational_ thing for them to do. But seeing Fin rising from the sofa made him waver in his resolve.

Because as messed up as their predicament was, he worried he could be losing the one chance they might ever have for this partnership of theirs to become something deeper. “Or…you could stay here with me,” John blurted out before he could think better of it.

Fin paused, half out of his seat, confusion coloring his expression. “You crazy? You _want_ that to happen again?”

“I don’t know,” John answered with honesty. He really didn’t. He didn’t want to mess up their partnership, but he _did_ want…well, it was hard to deny things he wanted when Fin was wearing nothing but a thin blanket and he’d give anything to touch that body again—heat or no heat.

Though he could feel a humming energy coursing through his blood, a warning sign that this momentary reprieve would be over soon.

“John?” Fin said, in a quieter tone, one that was almost painful to his ears.

John closed his eyes, tried to shake these mixed, conflicted feelings out of his head. “Listen—or you know what? Don’t listen to me, because I’m not in the most rational state of mind. You know that, I know that. But…”

Dammit, seeing Fin looking at him with such concern, he couldn’t be anything less than one hundred percent honest. He plunged onward before he could stop himself. “…Well. While that wasn’t exactly how I pictured you and I some day, perchance, ‘getting a little action in’, I have never been opposed to the idea except for reasons of our employment and the governing rules therein regarding fraternization in the workplace—”

“Munch, the fuck you tryin’ to say?”

“I’m _saying…”_ John paused, one last time. He compelled himself to look directly at Fin, swallowed down his anxiety, and then said, “I’m saying that you could help me through the rest of this, if you were so inclined, and I wouldn’t mind. In fact if there’s any alpha out there I’d _want_ to spend a heat with—who I’d trust at this point in my life—it’s you, Fin. Because…I like you. Probably a lot more than I should.”

John wished he could read Fin’s expression better, his response to those words. But his glasses had also been tossed aside somewhere during the night’s activities so everything was a hazy around the edges.

Vision, however, wasn’t everything. He could pick up the subtle change in the air, a certain potential and scent that suggested Fin’s resistance was wavering. He answered John, his tone of voice quiet, serious, “We gotta work together, man. I can’t—like you said, it’s the rules.”

“‘Bonded pairs cannot remain partners on active duty because they’d always put each other first in a crisis situation.’ I know. We’ve all heard it until we’re sick to death of it. I’m not asking to try to take on a full bond with you,” John insisted, his hand reaching up to soothe the bite mark on his shoulder from the night before. They’d been lucky Fin had held on to enough control in his half-conscious state to not bite higher, right over his scent gland. Because in that case they’d have a _lot_ more complications to deal with today. “Just…you could help me get through this. If you want.”

“And that’s really want _you_ want, and it’s not just the heat talkin’,” Fin pressed, remaining cautious.

“I’m sure of _that_ , if nothing else. But if you aren’t at all interested, I’ll respect your decision and understand. No hard feelings.” And he’d appreciate Fin walking away if that were the case. They could continue on as nothing but partners and friends, try to forget this one misstep.

They could try. It might not be easy, but John would do it to keep Fin as his partner.

“Maybe…maybe _I’m_ thinkin’ the only reason it _did_ happen last night is ’cause I really wanted it, too.” Fin’s admission startled John, if only because it was so rare to hear Fin talk about his wants and desires. “I mean, we may be driven by instinct on a certain level, but I’m not an animal, and neither are you. I don’t jump on omegas in heat just ’cause they’re there for me to take. I fight day-in, day-out on this job to help combat that kind of shit. I think I couldn’t stop it last night because deep down it wasn’t about instinct, or hormones…it was you. Someone I care about, have thought about… _that_ way…too.”

“You mean, deep down you have a thing for elegant, mature men with personal boundary issues, a terrible track record in love and relationships, and bony asses?” John teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively until Fin rolled his eyes.

“That ass _is_ pretty bony, I remember that much from last night,” Fin shot back. But his expression softened as his eyes traveled over John’s body, in a way that seemed to raise the temperature in the room. John could feel a sweat breaking out on his skin again. “But the rest of that body ain’t half-bad.”

“Neither is yours, though that throw blanket and pillow aren’t exactly the _accoutrements_ to land you a centerfold in the next _AlphaStud_ magazine.”

“This better?” Fin said, slipping the blanket off and letting John have a better chance to appreciate his body. His eyes immediately went to the alpha's cock, currently soft, but nestled invitingly in a dark nest of curly hair.

“Mm, much.” Oh, he was definitely sensing that need coming back to him. Looking at Fin, the fire in his blood took control once more. He began to move in closer, working himself up to going for a kiss—

And that was when Fin’s cellphone rang.

“Shit…” Fin muttered as John sighed and tried to reign himself back. Fin jumped up off the sofa and dug around his strewn-about clothes for his pants. His found them, before the final ring, and answered, “Tutuola—hey, Cap’n.”

John realized he had no idea what time it was. Judging by the sunlight coming in through Fin’s windows it had to be getting on into the later morning hours, and no doubt they were both supposed to be at the precinct by now.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t call or check in. …Uh, no, fine. We got a tip late last night where the guys from yesterday might’ve holed up. Uh huh…Me ’n Munch been watchin’ this place all night.” Fin glanced over at John, who sat quiet, only a touch guilty to hear Fin make up a story. It wasn’t as if he would be able to function at work anyway. Not when his main thought at the moment was how much he wanted to get his hands on the other man’s body. “No, so far nothin’, but we see ’em I’ll call in for backup right away. …Okay, thanks.”

Fin hung up and John shook his head. “Lying like a dog,” he chided.

“You wanna tell the captain the truth?”

“No, thank you.” The call might have interrupted the moment, but John wasn’t about to let work stop him from getting what he needed. He shed his own blanket and shifted in near to Fin. And then he leaned in for a kiss, before Fin could look or move away—or think better of it.

They might have knotted but they hadn’t kissed before, at least not that John remembered. Maybe in their dream-state, before he’d awoken, but that was all a blur and not memories he wanted to dwell upon. This was a taste of Fin that he needed, now, and getting it made him moan and shudder against those luscious, full lips.

Fin seemed hesitant, but only for the briefest moment. Then his lips parted and he grasped for John’s shoulders, squeezing them and groaning as his tongue met John’s.

 _Fucking hell._ John couldn’t tell if it was his heat or the feelings he’d kept locked away, denied for far too long. In that moment it was the best kiss he could remember in his lifetime, the taste of Fin all he ever wanted and needed. It was a taste that reminded him of honey and smoke, spice and pure sex…whatever it was, he wanted more. He wanted to lose himself in the taste of Fin’s mouth, those strong hands on his body.

Fin abruptly pulled back, startling John and leaving him anxious. “Sure you okay with this?” he asked.

John captured Fin’s hand and put it right on his own dick, which was already growing stiff. “You feel that? Does it feel like I don’t want this?”

Fin licked his lips. “It’s startin’ again, ain’t it.”

“No shit. But that doesn't make the things I said earlier any less true.” John went for another kiss before Fin could protest again, sucking on Fin’s bottom lip. The brush of his mustache and beard felt so good against John’s face, and he didn’t move that hand off his cock, either, which felt even better.

“Damn, wanna kiss you all over,” Fin murmured, giving in to his own needs. John shuddered as Fin licked him, right over the spot where a bite would bond them—and for a moment John ached for him to do precisely that. “Love the way you taste…gonna fuck you _right_ this time, babe.”

John could only manage a whimper of agreement at that. Fin’s kisses, his touch, his scent, they were all sending him into overdrive. The fever in his body only felt soothed by Fin’s touch, that tongue on his sweaty skin. He would have suggested they move to the bedroom if he could form a coherent sentence, but it was a challenge with Fin pushing him back down onto the sofa cushions, all the while licking a sloppy trail down his chest.

Oh yes, they could stay where they were, all right. They’d already made enough of a sticky, sweaty mess here. And _oh sweet fucking christ on a pogo stick_ but Fin’s mouth had replaced the hand on his penis, kissing and sucking him, bringing him rapidly to a full state of arousal.

“Mmmm,” Fin moaned around the cock in his mouth.

“Fuck, Fin, oh god… _fuck_ …” While licking and sucking, Fin’s hands stayed busy, too. One was playing with John’s balls, caressing the soft skin and occasionally running a trail back to his trembling, wet hole. Yes, he was wet again, wet and hungry to be filled. A finger slid inside of him and John groaned, shifting to try to impale himself on it.

“Damn,” Fin said with a chuckle as he paused to rest his jaw, lick his lips.

“Need it, Fin,” John gasped out. “Need your dick in me.”

“Need it too. But I want to suck you off some more first.” And Fin went back to doing as he wished, as much as John was suffering, caught between insane pleasure and the desperate need for more. Fin added a second finger, then a third, each one making John sweat and moan and curse a little more—but those fingers still weren’t anywhere as satisfying as a stiff alpha cock.

“Please…” John begged, panting and squirming. The blow job wouldn’t be enough get him off. Not in this state. He’d only get more and more worked up until he was close to screaming for it. He finally was moving and bucking so much against Fin’s mouth and fingers that Fin gave up.

“You always this pushy, man?” he asked, as he got up and, without warning, pulled John down off the sofa and onto the floor.

“Only for a real fuck when I need it.” And to make his point, John willingly got on his elbows and knees, thankful for the shag rug beneath him. He wiggled his ass in Fin’s direction, impatient. “So are going to stop screwing around and give it to me?”

Fin slapped his ass, causing him to yelp, before grabbing his thighs and holding him steady. “You mean like this?” he asked, and then proceeded to ram his cock fully into John’s slick ass with one good thrust.

“Oh, _fuck._ Yes, dammit. Yes… _yes_!” John cried out his agreement with each following thrust. He might have spared a thought for Fin’s poor neighbors, who would be hearing nothing but more of the same for the next few days, if his brain could focus on anything other that sex. Fin’s cock was nice and big even before his knot swelled; he could appreciate that now, while awake and conscious of what was happening.

“You like that?”

“Fuck…so good…so…nnngh…!” Fin re-positioned a little and adjusted John’s stance, somehow getting deeper inside of him in the process.

“Feels good in your ass….so damn good…mm hmm.” Fin pumped into him with abandon, pausing only now and again to give a stinging slap to John’s backside. Each slap made John cry out in surprised pain—and delight. “Damn scrawny ass stingin’ my hand,” Fin complained.

“’Cause you’re supposed to be _fucking_ it, not spanking it.” John reached for the throw blanket he’d tossed aside earlier. He wrapped it in his hands and bit down on it to keep from outright screaming. Because he could feel it coming fast this time. After only a few minutes of savage thrusting Fin was slowing down, swelling up. Soon it was enough that John felt his whole body begin to convulse and he was coming before they even were in a full knot.

“Oh baby, I can feel you squeezin’ me now, so good. So good I’m gonna…” but Fin couldn’t finish his words; they dissolved into a groan as he shot his own load, orgasm overtaking him as well. John whimpered but still tried his best to relax, to quell his urge to panic as he was stretched and filled beyond what seemed humanly possible.

This was just Fin, and he’d let Fin do this to him, this time. He’d _asked_ for it. So he would endure it for the relief it also granted him, and knowing that the knot would only last so long. He had survived it once, while resisting; he could do it again.

“John…you…?” Fin struggled to ask between grunted breaths.

“Mmm,” John murmured, trying to sound reassuring. The throbbing, filling sensation wasn’t so bad this time, now that he’d expected it—and because Fin had done such a good job of working him up beforehand. He could let it happen and take some satisfaction from hearing Fin’s sounds of pleasure, his own body’s spasms falling into a matching rhythm of relief.

This time it didn’t last as long, either. Or at least it didn’t seem to. When John could feel the knot dying down, he almost felt a pang of regret to lose that intense connection between them. Fin pulled out as soon as he was able to, and both men collapsed onto the floor, leaning back against the sofa for needed support.

Fin asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Not sure if I can say the same for your rug or your sofa now. But at the very least I think you fucked the hangover out of me.” John let out a sigh that turned into a yawn. The rapid up-and-down swings of the heat were exhausting. “I know it’s not even afternoon yet…or I’m guessing as much…but damn I could use some sleep now.”

“Me too. And we should grab some while we can. C’mon.” Fin awkwardly managed to get to his feet, and then helped John do the same. John leaned into him, feeling good with the way Fin was holding onto him, so protectively.

They both then fell into Fin’s bed, where John welcomed his partner’s embrace to snuggle into. The sweat on his skin was cooling, and he shivered a little.

“Cold?”

“No, I’m fine.” Feeling a little chilly was a welcome respite, and Fin’s embrace would keep him warm enough. “Thanks….for staying here, with me.”

Fin squeezed John a little tighter, pressed his lips against John’s forehead. “We’re partners. Gotta look out for each other. Take care of each other.”

 _Let’s hope we can stay partners after this,_ John thought, but he didn’t linger on it. Over the next few days they could try to sort things out. For now he just wanted to get some needed rest, and that would be easy to do with Fin keeping him close.

* * *

“Morning, John.”

“Morning,” he greeted Olivia as he hung up his coat, then headed straight to the bullpen’s coffee station. He skipped the office sludge—that was only for when he really needed the extreme caffeine hit—and prepared his first cup of tea for the day instead.

The typical Monday morning routine.

“Manage to have a good weekend?” he asked Olivia.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” she said. “Alex got us tickets to see ‘Hairspray’ on Saturday. And for once I didn’t get a call at the last minute and leave her desperate to find a substitute theater date.”

“Sounds divine.”

“How about yourself?”

“No hot dates for me, alas. Not unless you count cold coffee and back spasms on stakeout, sharing a car with Fin.” John sat down across from his partner, who only looked up from his paperwork with a scowl. He rolled his neck and said, “In fact I think I need to see my chiropractor this week to work out the kinks. Think you could cover for me tomorrow afternoon, partner?”

“Yeah, sure. But I’m gonna need some time off to see the proctologist ’cause you’re such a pain in the ass, Munch.”

Olivia shook her head and went back to her own work. John sipped his tea and relaxed; slipping back into routine, as if everything was perfectly normal, was easier than he’d thought it was going to be.

In reality, the two of them had only parted company a short while before. Fin had driven him back to his apartment in the very early morning hours when he’d felt confident the last of his heat was well and truly over. He’d showered until the hot water had run out, caught a scant, precious hour of sleep in his own bed, and then tried to compose himself as best as possible so as not to look like he’d been fucked raw six ways _through_ Sunday night.

And then, on his way in to work this morning, he’d made a stop at the pharmacy near his apartment to get a refill on his blockers—and some heat-after pills. He knew the chances of getting pregnant at his age were pretty slim, but he sure as hell wasn’t taking any chances.

They’d agreed, without the slightest debate, that they’d keep the weekend’s events a secret. There was no real alternative if they wanted to maintain their working relationship. Even if they hadn’t committed to a full bond, partners weren’t supposed to become sexually or romantically involved.

And John wasn’t sure where this was going between them, anyway—if it would go anywhere at all. It’s not like they’d spent a lot of time over the weekend in deep conversation. Even without having another drink over the course of those three days, John’s memories were a blur of _sleep-fuck-knot, sleep-fuck-knot_ , over and over until at last he had finally felt free from—and exhausted by—his body’s craven needs.

 _“If there’s a fucking ounce of come left in my body I’d be amazed,”_ Fin had said, after their last round of mating had ended in an exhausted, limp-limbed heap on his bed.

_“If there is, keep it to yourself. I’m beginning to feel like an overstuffed éclair.”_

Fin had kissed him and tussled his hair, which he assumed by now was standing in every direction except flat against his head. _“That reminds me, have we eaten anything all weekend?”_

_“Not that I recall. But I am not going out for pizza. And I don’t think it would be a good idea to have a delivery person come here, either.”_

They had settled on pop tarts and ice cream, since that’s what Fin could find in his pantry and fridge.

But now, as he sipped his tea, John could still only taste Fin on his lips. His skin, his saliva, his sweat, his come. He could still feel the ghost of his touch on his flesh, beneath his layers of clothes. And it discomforted him to think about that too much, so he tried not to.

He wondered if Fin was feeling any of the same, beneath that oh-so-cool and normal exterior of his.

“Morning,” Elliot called, the next to arrive. Walking past Fin and John’s desks, he said, “Heard you two were chasing a lead on your pimp on Friday. Any luck?”

“Nah,” Fin answered. “Ended up chasin’ shadows instead of our perp.”

“Well, today you can talk to some of those kids, see if they can help give us a more concrete lead,” Cragen said, walking over to the two detectives. “I got a call from the hospital that at least some of them are stable enough to talk now.”

“We’ll get right on it,” John said, and Fin nodded.

“Might want to call the hospital first to make sure they’ll have an interpreter available,” the captain said, before going over to talk with Olivia and Elliot about the status of their current cases.

“Good idea. I’ll make the call,” John said to his partner. He spoke some passable Spanish—most all of them did—but it was not his most fluent language. And for official statements they would want to make sure everything was as accurate as possible. “In fact, maybe I should go over there on my own to talk to them.” At Fin’s puzzled look, he added, “They might not be comfortable with an alpha in the room with them—let alone questioning them.”

“Oh. Right. You do that, I got some messages to follow up on in the meantime. Must’ve come in over the weekend.”

“Leads?”

“Yeah, but on the Marchesi rape-homicide from last month. Not this case. Gonna head uptown ’cause it sounds like the roommate might’ve stumbled on something while cleaning up to move out.”

“I’d be damn glad to put that one to bed as well. Sure his parents would be, too.”

“No kidding,” Fin agreed, standing up to collect his coat and get moving.

All of it, everything on the surface, was exactly normal. John had feared he’d walk in this morning and everyone would instantly _know_ what was going on, that it would be obvious. But his bites and bruises, while dully painful, were all well concealed. The scent of his heat and Fin’s rut were washed away, today covered as much as fresh clothing and a hearty dose of neutralizing cologne would allow.

So for now, only they knew. And they planned to keep it that way.

“Catch up around lunch time?” Fin asked.

“Sounds good.” John glanced up and met Fin’s eyes, ever so briefly, and winked when he was sure no one else was paying attention. Fin dipped his chin and looked like he was working hard to conceal an embarrassed smile before turning away and leaving.

John made no attempt to conceal the smile on his own lips, as he reached for the phone and started to dial the hospital’s number.

**Author's Note:**

> Song lyrics (c) Emily Haines, James Shaw, from "Satellite Mind".


End file.
